


He Left Handprints on Her Heart

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-16
Updated: 2008-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ron plans a special Valentine's Day surprise for Hermione, and the sparks between them fly, culminating in intense passion.





	1. Sweet Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Hermione was standing beside the kitchen counter in their small flat when he caught sight of her. Ron stopped and leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her, loving the sight of her in his old Quidditch jersey. He noted that her legs and feet were bare and wondered what, if anything, she was wearing beneath it. Something on the counter had captured his wife's attention, but her body blocked his view. Hermione turned her head just a bit, and he was captivated as she brought one of her fingers to her mouth and licked something from it. It was the single most sensual thing he had ever witnessed.  

  

He was across the room, pulling her back against his chest, before she even realized he was there. That stealth training at the Auror Academy had come in handy, though he doubted it was required training so one could sneak up on his sexy wife and shag her senseless. _No, that was a bonus._    

  

She squealed, startled when his arms encircled her waist and his chin pressed down on her shoulder. "Ron! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

  

His voice was little more than a growl, "Give me some."

  

"What?"

  

"Whatever you had on your finger, give me some."

  

He began nibbling down the side of her neck. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, allowing him better access as she stroked his hair. "You're home early.  I wasn't expecting you for a couple more hours." 

  

"Did you hear me, Hermione?"

  

"Hm?" Her eyes were closed, and Ron could tell she was enjoying the attention he was lavishing on her neck.  

  

"I said give me some of what you were licking off your finger." He went back to kissing her neck, occasionally using his teeth to nip at her skin while she moaned and whimpered at the sensations.  

  

"Here," she said in a quivering voice. "Oh, Ron! Do that again."

  

He licked the junction between her neck and shoulder again. He closed his eyes as she pushed two of her fingers past his lips. He applied pressure as he sucked, swirling his tongue around her fingers much more than was necessary to lick them clean before allowing her to withdraw them. He was surprised.  It was some type of chocolate pudding. And it was good-- very good really. Hermione had many admirable qualities, and he loved her beyond reason, but she could not cook an edible dish to save her life.  

  

His mum must have brought it. She knew how much his wife and Ginny, who, like Hermione, was also five months pregnant, loved chocolate. He would wager there was a matching pudding at his sister's house. "Yum, baby, it's good."

  

"The pudding or my neck?"

  

"Both."

  

"Well," she said after a moment, "aren't you surprised it tastes good?"

  

Ron's voice was husky. "No. Your neck always tastes delicious." He knew he was leaving marks on her skin. She would fuss when she saw them later, in typical Hermione fashion, but he didn't care. He loved marking her with his mouth and teeth. He wanted the world to know she belonged to him. 

  

"I was talking— **Oh** \-- about the – **Yes, right there** —pudding." 

  

"You look so sexy wearing my jersey." His hands moved under the too-large-shirt. She was only wearing knickers beneath it, and his hands rubbed her stomach before moving up to cup her breasts. "Maybe I should have another taste."  

  

"I think you should." She guided his mouth back to her neck, as she squirmed to push her tits more firmly into his palms, urging him to squeeze them.  

  

He chuckled. "Not your neck. The pudding-- maybe I should have another taste of the pudding."  

  

She glared at him. "Ron Weasley, you're a tease."  

  

"I wasn't the one licking my fingers and looking all sexy. See what you've done to me." He grasped her hips, pulling her back to press against his erection and slipping his hand into her knickers. 

  

When his finger dipped inside, she gasped, "That feels so good."  

  

"I thought I was a tease." He withdrew his finger, causing her to whine, and he chuckled at the sound.

  

"You are. I want you." Her breaths were coming in short pants.

  

He backed her up against the table, lifting her to sit on the edge, as he stroked her hair back away from her face. He felt the heat of her stare as he retrieved the dessert.  "See something you like?"

  

"I do."

  

She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged at the lobe of his ear with her teeth, her tongue darting inside. The sensation made his skin prickle. He pulled his old jersey over her head and tossed it aside, as her knees tightened around his waist. He kissed her, dipping his tongue into her mouth. _Gods he loved the way she tasted._

  

Ron covered two of his fingers in chocolate, brought them to her lips, and moved them back and forth, spreading pudding over her mouth. Her tongue darted out across her lower lip for a taste.  

  

He raised an eyebrow as she grinned back at him. "Did I say that was for you?"

  

"You put it on my lips so…"

  

"So I could lick it off again." He slanted his mouth over hers; his lips and tongue sucked and licked until all of the pudding was gone and her lips were puffy and swollen. "You have the most beautiful mouth. I love the way your lips feel, always so soft, when I kiss you."   

  

She moaned at the sound of his words.  

  

"I love the way your tits fit so perfect in my hands; the way you arch your back when I squeeze them."  Ron dipped the first two fingers of each hand into the pudding bowl as his tongue licked across her swollen lips, forcing its way into her mouth. There must have been a cooling charm on the pudding because she shivered when it made contact with her skin, and her nipples hardened beneath his fingers as he covered them in chocolate.   

  

He sucked one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking gently. Ron had an affection for sweets, but the pudding combined with the taste of her skin was heaven on his tongue. Her fingernails scratched at his back and shoulders when he rolled her nipple between his teeth. "Good, baby?"

  

"Yes. You're driving me mad, Ron. I'm already about to come."  

  

He ran his hands up the insides of her thighs and between her legs, "Baby, you're already so wet for me. Gonna tongue you until it feels so good it hurts. Gonna stroke you until you purr like a kitten for me. I'm not gonna stop until you beg me." 

  

Her hands were working to unfasten his jeans. 

  

"Patience, love. I haven't finished my dessert." He heard her say something about not having any patience left, but his mind was elsewhere. He could only imagine if the pudding tasted good when he licked it from her tits, how good it would taste if he--- 

  

Hermione took advantage of his lack of attention and pulled his wand from the back pocket of his jeans. One flick of his wand, and Ron found himself tied to the kitchen chair. A swish, and his clothes were gone. "Blimey, what are you doing?"

  

"I don't think you should get to have all the fun tonight, love."

  

"So those are the sounds you make when you're not having fun?" He used his most sarcastic tone, but the feel of her hand as it wrapped around him chased away any ability he had to form coherent thought. "Untie me, Hermione."

  

"No more teasing, Ron. I want you inside me."  

  

He swallowed hard and nodded. 

  

She kissed him, and he felt the ropes release their hold. He pulled her onto his lap, wrapped her in his arms, and deepened the kiss as he took the wand from her hand. "I love you like this," Ron said as he stroked her stomach, where his baby was growing inside her. "I feel like I'm under some sort of spell when you're in the room. I can't think of anything but kissing you, touching you, being inside you. I love you, Hermione." 

  

"I know."

  

"Hold on to me." Without question, she wrapped her arms around his neck, as he Apparated the two of them into the bedroom where they landed softly on the bed.

  

Ron grasped her hips, holding her steady until he was fully engulfed in the wet heat of her body. She began to ride him as he ran his fingertips lightly up and over each of her sides, teasing her ribs with his feather-light touch. She smacked at his hand when it touched the spot he knew was most ticklish, causing him to smile at the look that crossed her face.   

  

She scratched her nails lightly across his stomach, as he reclined on his elbows, unable to take his eyes off her. He loved the way her face changed with each new sensation. He could watch her like this forever, eyes closed, hair wild, knowing he was inside her, knowing she made those noises, soft gasps and sharper intakes of breath, coupled with sighs and moans, all for him. He watched her stroke herself. "Does it feel good when you touch yourself, love?"

  

"Feels better when you touch me."   

  

He could tell she was close. He moved his hips to allow his hand to replace hers between them. He moved his thumb in sharp, quick circles against her clit as he whispered, "Come for me, baby."

  

At the sound of his words, her muscles clenched around him, dragging him with her over the edge. He loved the sound of his name on her lips when she came. She continued to ride him until both of their bodies were spent.  

  

He pulled her close to him and she kissed his cheek.  He held her for a moment, then stood reaching for his robe. "Be right back. Stay here, okay?"

  

"Where are you going?"

  

"I Apparated us in here for a reason…Well, a reason other than the obvious one."  He winked at the confused expression on her face. "We have a visitor."

  

"A visitor? Who?"

  

"Harry, I think. I heard a pop outside the kitchen window, and I didn't think you'd appreciate him walking in while you were naked in my lap."

  

"No—You mean he's been here while we…?"

  

Ron laughed at the blush spreading across her cheeks. "I'm going to find out. If he's still here, it must be important, or he would have left when he heard us…" His words trailed off; he winked at her again and started out of the room.

  

"You might have told me, Ron.  I wouldn't have been so …" her cheeks reddened even more, and she lowered her voice, "loud."   

  

He stopped in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. "I didn't tell you cause I like it when you're loud."  

  

Ron closed the bedroom door just as something slammed against it from the other side, and he heard his wife's voice calling, "Prat."

  

~ ♥ ~

  

Harry had, indeed, brought important news. Augustus Rookwood, who escaped the battle that took Fred's life and had managed to avoid capture in the years following despite Bill and Charlie's many attempts to find him, had been spotted. Ron worried about leaving his pregnant wife, but this was something he had to do. He and Harry would not permit another team of Aurors to take the assignment. This was personal. It was about family, and family meant everything.

  

Ron and Harry returned home a day after Rosie was born, and four days before the birth of Albus. They reported to Auror Headquarters and learned Hermione had given birth late the night before. 

  

~ ♥ ~

  

When Harry and Ron reached the door to Hermione's hospital room, Harry patted him on the shoulder. "I'll wait for you."

  

"What? You're not coming? Chicken. You know she's gonna yell, and you're afraid to go in there with me. Some best friend."

  

"And I suppose you would go with me if Ginny had been the one to have the baby before we got home."

  

_He had a point._ Ron opened the door and peeked inside, half expecting Hermione to throw something at him. Her hand covered her mouth, and tears began to roll down her cheeks when she saw him. He held her close and stroked her hair as her tears dampened his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, sweetheart. Damn, I've missed you. Yell at me all you want, just please don't cry."

  

She wiped at her eyes. "I reserve the right to hex you later. Right now, I'm just glad you're home." She inclined her head toward the baby, "There's someone you should meet."  

  

He protested at first, "What? Hold her? Hermione, no. She's so little. What if I hurt her? I don't know what I'm doing." But before he could say another word, she placed the tiny baby in the cradle of his arm.    

  

It wasn't long before Ron's parents arrived. Molly let out a relieved cry. "Ron, you're home." She started excitedly toward the bed, clearly intending to hug him.

  

"Oy, Mum. No. You'll make me drop her."  

  

Typically, his mother would not have been deterred, but the look of pure terror on Ron's face caused Arthur to hold her back.

  

When Harry and Ginny entered the room, Harry asked, "What's her name, Hermione?"

  

"I haven't named her. I was waiting on Ron. "Uncle George" was worried you two were going to be gone a while longer, so he gave her a nickname."

  

"What's he calling her?" asked Ron, somewhat afraid of the answer. With George, it could be anything.

  

"Rosie. He said her skin was all wrinkled and rosy the first time he saw her. I should probably be grateful he chose Rosie rather than Wrinkles."

  

Ron sighed. "I'm sorry you had to do this alone."  

  

"Alone?" she asked incredulously. "Hardly. Your pigheaded git of a brother refused to leave until she'd been born."  

  

"Care to narrow it down for me, love? 'Pigheaded git' is an accurate description of all my brothers."

  

"George."

  

Ron shot a why-weren't-you-here-with-her look at his sister. 

  

Ginny said, "Oh, no. Don't look at me like that. I tried to stay with her, but Hermione's just plain mean when she's in pain."

  

"You can say that again." George came striding into the room with Bill by his side. "I didn't even know some of the names she called me. I'm pretty sure they weren't good though. And the language! A right foul mouth our little Hermione has."

  

"That bad, huh?" said Ron, smiling at his blushing wife.

  

"Worse," said George. "I was being kind."

  

"I wasn't all that bad," Hermione protested in her own defense.

  

George raised a teasing eyebrow at her. "She thought she was gonna run me off, I think, but she should have known better. We Weasleys don't back down, not even from foul-mouthed, former prefects."   

  

Ron offered the baby to his mum when George asked to speak to him in private.    

They left the room as the rest of the family fawned over the new baby. 

  

George wasted no time in getting directly to the point. "Rookwood?"

  

Ron froze. They hadn't told anyone the assignment they'd been given. He and Harry had simply informed their family it was one only they could do. "How did you know?"

  

"Doesn't matter how I know. Tell me."

  

"The official report is---"

  

"Is it done, Ron?"

  

Ron looked at George's face. His brother would never be able to move on without knowing. "It's done."

  

Without another word, George nodded his head and walked back into the room.  Ron followed.  

  

"Molly, may I hold Rosie now?" asked Arthur.

  

Harry said, "You know, I think Rosie kind of suits her."

  

Ron looked at his wife. "What do you think?"

  

"I think our daughter has a name. If someone had told me nine months ago George Weasley would name my firstborn, I would have laughed." 

  

~ ♥ ~

  

The birth of their daughter was the point when their marriage began to unravel.  Hermione had pulled away from him little by little. Valentine's Day was supposed to be a day for lovers. Tonight, he would bring her back and mend what had broken between them, no matter the cost.

  

End of Chapter 1

 


	2. Rosie

Today was Valentine's Day -  the day Ron Weasley intended to remind his wife how much they had once loved one another, how much he loved her still.

 

Hermione was in her seventh month of pregnancy, expecting their second child. She suffered from terrible mood swings, often broke down and cried, flew into rages, and said the most hurtful things she could think of.  And given how well she knew him, she knew just what cut the deepest.

 

Having a toddler at home certainly added to his wife's stress. Hermione liked things neat, well-planned, and orderly. Growing up in a house with six siblings, chaos was second nature to Ron. For his wife, however, it was not.  

 

When Ron and Hermione were first married, their home had operated just as Hermione wanted. She ran it as she ran her life, with everything in its rightful place. It made her happy, so Ron followed her lead. That was the calm before the storm.

 

Then came Rosie.

 

Hermione handled her pregnancy in precisely the manner Ron had known she would.  She bought books about pregnancy and raising children, reading them all eagerly. Hermione planned when she would feed the baby, set up schedules for sleeping, and had the nursery fully stocked well before the baby's birth. She was determined to be the "perfect" mother and set about researching how best to accomplish this with the same determination she used when tackling any new task. She made her schedules, read her books, and all that was left to do was wait...    

 

Then came Rosie.

 

At 18 months old, their daughter was a miniature replica of the wife he adored but for the red hair and freckles she got from him.  In personality, however, Rosie and Hermione could not have differed more. She was independent like Hermione, but the similarities ended there. Rosie's demeanor was laidback and easygoing.  She smiled often, and when she laughed, it was infectious. Rosie had inherited the same curiosity and sense of adventure that as children had often gotten Ron and his brothers into trouble. 

 

Even as a newborn, Rosie had tested Hermione's patience. She refused to sleep when Hermione scheduled or eat when Hermione tried to nurse her. In every sense of the word, Rosie blew into their lives with the force of a hurricane and completely turned Hermione's world upside down. 

 

For all their differences, however, Rosie and Hermione did share one mutual talent. Each had the ability to bend Ron to her will without ever really trying. A tear from either set of identical brown eyes left him powerless to refuse whatever it was they wanted.

 

The chaos Rosie brought to their home and lives oftentimes left Hermione feeling as though she failed at motherhood and the ability to run a home and be a good wife. If there was one thing Hermione simply could not abide, it was to be considered a failure. She always succeeded at everything she set out to do. Ron was aware Hermione had made sacrifices for their family. She quit a job she liked to stay home and care for their child. She attempted to make their home life "perfect" but always fell short. He knew Hermione wanted their family to be what she considered a success. The problem, at least as Ron saw it, was Hermione set her standards for "success" so high, she was destined to fail before she began.

 

Since Hermione had become pregnant with their second child, there had been many changes in their home. Rosie had learned to talk and walk, and the only family member less pleased with her newfound abilities than Hermione was Crookshanks. Now that she was able, Rosie delighted in chasing the ginger-colored Kneazle, and did so whenever the opportunity arose. Ron was sure the changes in their daughter as she grew had only added to his wife's growing anxiety at the thought of being the mother to another child in only a few short months. He hoped when the new baby was born, Hermione would go back to being more like her old self again. He hated seeing her upset all the time. He wanted things to go back to how they had been…before…  

 

Before Rosie had blown into their lives with a smile that never failed to melt her father's heart, Ron and Hermione had enjoyed the time they spent together as newlyweds. Their friends had teased that they never went out and did anything "fun," but Ron never enjoyed anything like the hours he spent with Hermione snuggled down under the covers of their bed in front of a crackling fire and talking for hours.  

 

Then there were nights when they did not speak at all. No words were necessary on those nights, only gasps, moans, whimpers, and sighs as hands caressed and tongues explored. On those nights, Ron loved nothing more than hearing his name on her lips as she came for him. He loved knowing it was the words from his lips making her wet, his touch driving her wild with desire, and his kiss that left her breathless in his arms. Her body had never known a touch that wasn't his, and his heart had never belonged to anyone but her.   

 

He missed the days when they never left their bedroom, the days she stayed wrapped in his arms for countless hours as he made love to her.  

 

Then came Rosie, and their world changed.

 

End of Chapter 2


	3. Hearts Break

Hermione withdrew from Ron's touch. If he leaned in to kiss her mouth, she turned her head and offered her cheek. If he attempted to hold her, she pulled away from him. Their bedroom was a cold and lifeless place these days. He longed to touch her, kiss her and make love to her again. Things simply could not continue on this way. It was making them both miserable. 

 

On his lunch break, Ron made arrangements for Rosie to stay with Harry and Ginny for the night. It was Valentine's Day and he felt bad for asking, but he was desperate. He feared that if he didn't do something soon, there would be too little of his marriage left to salvage, and that was a chance he was unwilling to take. Harry assured Ron that he and Ginny would be happy to have Rosie stay with them. Ron could tell from the concern on Harry's face that the strain in his and Hermione's marriage had not gone unnoticed, and Harry was worried about his two best friends. 

 

With arrangements for Rosie squared away and his work nearly complete for the day, Ron picked up his cloak and started for home. 

 

 

~ ♥ ~

 

 

Ron arrived at their flat only to find his wife sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. Hermione was clearly not having a good day. As Ron approached, he could tell that she was crying, and there was something bright yellow that had spilled all over the floor which, upon closer inspection, he discovered was paint. Their daughter was sitting in the middle of the paint puddle, kicking her arms and legs, giggling and squealing happily as drops of yellow dripped from her red pigtails. 

 

First, Ron attempted to lighten the mood. "Love, next time you decide to paint our daughter, you could at least send me an owl. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like yellow. It's a fine choice, but I might have wanted to add some stripes or something, you know, for decoration."

 

Hermione's crying grew louder. 

 

_Well, so much for trying to make her laugh. It was worth a try._ Ron attempted to pull his wife's hands from her face, as he whispered, "Hermione, please don't cry. It's not so bad. Just a little paint's all. It'll clean right up. Come on, baby, what's wrong?" 

 

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" She was practically screaming at him, and it wasn't difficult to see how angry she was. "I'll tell you what's wrong, Ronald Weasley!"

 

"Okay, Hermione. Tell me what's wrong. I've been asking you for weeks." He finished the last sentence with a frustrated sigh. The mood swings this pregnancy had brought on were terribly unpleasant and, more often than not, left Ron utterly bewildered. Hermione vacillated between laughing and crying, with no clear impetus for what caused the laughter to become tears. The one thing that remained unwavering was the coldness she had shown toward him the last few weeks. He tried to be patient, but Hermione had a way of twisting everything he said around, and no matter what he did, it was never the right thing.

 

Everything she had been holding inside for the last few weeks came pouring out as the words tumbled from her mouth. "This was a mistake. A huge mistake. What were we thinking having another baby? I'm not ready for this. I can't do it. I don't want to do it. I'm a terrible wife. I'm a complete failure as a mother. I'm not cut out for this, Ron."

 

"Hermione—"

 

"No, stop. Just listen. Your mum managed to raise seven children. I can't even paint a nursery without the one child I have managing to cover herself in a yellow blob of paint." She was rambling, only broken pieces of sentences reaching his ears, between her sobs. 

 

Ron tried to put consoling arms around her, but she was having none of it. She rounded on him, finger pointing in his face. _Merlin, I hate it when she does that._ She knew he hated it when she pointed her finger in his face. She was purposely trying to provoke his temper. _Don't lose your cool, it will only make things worse. Take a deep breath. Okay. There, that's better. Ignore the finger pointing._

 

"This is all your fault, you know," she said glaring at him, finger still extended in his direction.

 

"Somehow I thought it might be," he said in a defeated tone. Nothing would placate Hermione when one of these mood swings hit, and there was simply no point in challenging her. It was best to just let her scream, rant, cry, or whatever else she needed to do until the wave of hormones passed. He was doing his best to play the part of the understanding husband, but when Hermione threw a fit _and there was no other word for this—it was clearly a fit_ she really tested a bloke's patience. Still, he tried. "What can I do to make it better, love?"

 

"Don't patronize me. Stop talking to me like I'm a child, Ron. This is not the life I want. I hate it. I don't want to do it anymore. Make it better? You can't take this baby back. I'm stuck," she said pointing to her stomach. "You can't make it better."

 

This time, her words were too much. He threw up his hands in defeat. He couldn't do this alone. She had to want it too. As much as he loved her, maybe she just didn't feel the same anymore. "Is that what you want, Hermione? You can leave if you want. I'd never force you to stay where you don't want to be. Love you way too much to make you unhappy, but I can't do this anymore either. I can't bear hearing how miserable I make you and how unhappy you are with your life—your life with me." It would break his heart if she left, but he wouldn't hold her where she didn't want to be. Those words were the cruelest she had ever spoken to him. _How long had she 'hated' living with him? Had she only stayed because she felt she was 'stuck'? Had she really said she wished she wasn't carrying his baby?_

 

The hurt must have shown on his face because her eyes went wide when she looked at him. She seemed genuinely surprised that her words had the power to wound him. Usually, he would let her rant on until the crying spell ended. He would accept what he had believed was her sincere apology, and they would move on. Not today. She had gone too far this time. 

 

"So what's it going to be, Hermione?"

 

His question was met with silence, and he assumed she must have made her decision to leave long before tonight. He wouldn't make it any harder for her. Through clenched teeth, he asked "Where do you want me to send your things?"

 

She looked truly startled when his words reached her ears. "What? You want– Okay." She visibly broke in front of him. The tears came faster, and she was having difficulty catching her breath. 

 

_Why did she seem so surprised? Had she expected him to beg her not to go; to keep her here even knowing how unhappy she was with him? Did she really have such a low opinion of him that she could think him that selfish?_

 

Her voice was soft when she asked, "Do you want me to go, Ron?"

 

"You know I don't. Do you want to be here?"

 

As Ron waited for an answer, he reached down to scoop the yellow mess that was his baby girl from the floor. She had just spotted Crookshanks, and he felt certain that if he didn't take hold of Rosie, they would soon have a yellow Kneazle to match their daughter. 

 

The sobbing was louder still. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Ron. I say things to intentionally hurt the people I love the most. The words come pouring out of my mouth, and I seem to have no ability to stop them once they start. I am such a bitch. I don't even like to be around myself."

 

"I love you." 

 

"Why? Why do you love me? I don’t deserve it. I constantly belittle and yell at you. I have no patience with our child. My cooking is edible on occasion, but it's never good, no matter how closely I follow the recipe. The house is constantly a mess. How could you possibly love me? I refuse to let you touch me. I shove you away every time you try to kiss or hold me."

 

"Do I need a reason to love you? I love you because I love you. Nothing more; nothing less. I wish you wouldn't push me away, but I can't make you want me."

 

"I can't imagine why you would want someone as useless as me to stay here. I tried to make dinner for you tonight. Of course, you can probably still smell where I burned it. I tried to paint one room and only managed to get paint on the kitchen floor and on our child—not one drop of it on an actual wall. Merlin, Ron, I am such a horrible person. You should be the one pushing me out the door, begging me to leave."

 

"First of all, I would never want you to leave. You burned dinner, big deal, I don't care. It's nothing to get upset about and it hardly makes you 'horrible' or 'useless.' Hermione, you are stressed out. You're going to have a baby, which has your hormones raging out of control."

 

"That's right. Thank you so much for reminding me that I'm fat too—pregnant, useless, fat, horrible, and undesirable. I know you've been thinking it for weeks. I see how you look at me."

 

"Stop it!" he shouted, only lowering his voice when he felt Rosie startle in his arms at the sound. He took a deep breath, trying to get his temper under control. "I did not say that... If I've been looking at you in a way that upsets you, then I'm sorry—No—Hell, I'm not sorry. You're my fucking wife. I want you. That was lust you saw, not disgust, but I'm not surprised you don't recognize the difference anymore. You twist everything else I do around, why not the way I look at you? And stop telling me what I've been thinking, since you clearly have no idea. If you want to leave, fine, but don't expect me to make it any easier for you to justify going by telling you I don't want you. I miss you, Hermione. I don't know why you won't let me touch you, kiss you, or make love to you, and you won't tell me. What do you want from me?" 

 

She cried harder. He tried to pull her close to him, tried to stroke her hair, dry her tears, anything to make this stop, but she recoiled from his touch. "Stop. I don't want your pity, Ron."

 

He was furious. She had pushed him away at every turn, and his pride and confidence were wounded. "I'm not doing this anymore. I can't. It kills me when you act like my touch repulses you. I don't know what you expect from me. I married you because I love you, and I want to be with you, but I can't live like this. If you don't love me anymore, you should go. That's what you're waiting on—for me to make it easier for you, give you permission so you won't feel guilty for leaving. Don't feel guilty, Hermione. You have my permission." His voice was loud again, and he had no desire to shout at his wife, nor did he want to lose his temper again in front of his daughter. "I'm not going to argue with you anymore tonight. There's no point. I don’t want to scare Rosie by fighting with you. You've already decided what you want. Just go." 

 

At the sound of her name, Rosie reached up to wrap her arms around Ron's neck and laid her head against his chest. The sound of them fighting, their raised voices, and the tone of their words had caused her to become quiet. She felt the tension in the room, even if she didn't understand what was being said. Ron smiled down at the child in his arms and squeezed her reassuringly.

 

Rosie was clearly still enthralled with the yellow paint that covered both her and the floor, and she reached up to place a yellow hand on Ron's face. "Daddy, look."

 

"I see. That's yellow." Ron gave Rosie's paint-soaked pigtail a small tug.

 

"Pretty," said the wide-eyed child. Ron couldn't help but smile. Other than his daughter's red hair and freckles, in looks, she was Hermione in miniature. 

 

"No, not pretty," said Hermione in a particularly annoyed voice. "It's a mess. Look at you, Rosie." 

 

The child's lip began to quiver at her mother's tone, and Ron shot Hermione an angry but pleading look, careful not to raise his voice. "Hermione, you don't mean it. You're mad at me. Don't take it out on her. I'm sorry I fucked up your perfect life by getting you pregnant again, but there's nothing I can do to fix that now. It's too late. You might have told me seven months ago having my baby would make you so bloody miserable." 

 

When Hermione looked at him this time, he saw no anger in her face. She was ashamed of herself; ashamed that she had cut him so deeply. The sound of her own words as he repeated them back to her had shocked her, and he watched as many different emotions crossed her face. The feelings seemed to collide inside her as the realization of what her words may well have cost her registered on her face. 

 

Even after all she had said to hurt him, it broke his heart to see her standing before him, trembling and pale. She looked like a scared little girl, tears rolling down her face as she seemed to struggle to find the right thing to say. She opened her mouth as if to tell him something several times, only to close it again, seeming unable to form the words she sought. In fact, all she managed to choke out before leaving the room was, "Ron, I don't know what to—"

 

Hermione ran from the kitchen to the bathroom and slammed the door hard. Even with the door between them, Ron could hear her crying harsh sobs that seemed to tear at her chest and throat. In all the years he had known her, and through all the dangers they had faced together, he had never heard such heart wrenching cries from her...and it broke his heart to hear them now. _How had things gotten out of control so quickly?_

 

As he sat there lost in thought, Rosie caught his face between her sticky, paint-soaked, little fingers, "Pretty Daddy."

 

End of Chapter 3


	4. Making Amends

Ron walked to the bathroom door and knocked. "Hermione, let me in, please." 

 

She didn't answer him, but when he tried the door handle, he was surprised to find that it wasn't locked. He entered to find her sitting on the floor, still sobbing, her face once more buried in her hands. 

 

Ron knelt on the floor behind his wife. When he attempted to wrap her in his arms this time, there was no fight left in her. She simply held onto his arms and continued to sob as he pulled her back against his chest. Even when he was angry, he hated to see her cry. 

 

"Oh, Ron. I'm sorry. I'm a terrible wife and mother. You should hate me for the way I've treated you. I really don't think I'm cut out for this. I'm just so bad at it. You deserve better."

 

It was clear from the desperate way in which she clung to him, the fight was over. She hadn't clung to him like this in a very long time. He attempted to console her, "Ssh. I got what I wanted. I got you." 

 

Her voice trembled, "Ron, I'm scared. Who am I kidding? I'm terrified. What if I can't handle having another baby? What am I supposed to do now? The baby's coming whether I can handle it or not. I was trying to cook today, and I burned dinner and – and—and—I" She was crying so hard, she was having difficulty catching her breath. 

 

Finally, she'd said it. No one more than he knew what it cost her to admit her fear, to tell him she was scared of anything after some of the things they had faced, to tell him she was terrified. Well, that was something he hadn't thought he would ever hear her say. He had suspected she was overwhelmed, even scared, but he had never imagined the degree to which her emotions had risen. She was truly terrified at the prospect of failing as a mother.

 

He rubbed her back as he held her. "It's normal to be scared. I promise, it's gonna be okay. You won't be doing this alone, you know. I'll be right here with you. Hush, 'Mione. It's okay. No more tears tonight. Come here." There was no resistance when he turned her around to face him. Then, his ever-predictable Hermione did something completely out of character, something which left him baffled. Through all the sobs that wracked her body and stole her breath, she began to laugh-- and laugh hard. Tears still poured from her eyes, but she was laughing and pointing at his face. Under his breath, he muttered, "These mood swings are completely mental."

 

Laughing at his comment, she surprised him yet again. She put her hand behind his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him. It was a soft kiss on his lips, somewhat timid, as though she wasn't sure she should kiss him. "Oh, Ron, yellow is really not your color." She was half-laughing, half-crying when she looked at him.

 

"Huh? Hermione, you're not making any sense." He was completely confused. 

 

She took his hand and pointed over to the mirror. "Go and look," she said as she attempted to wipe the tears from her face.

 

Ron walked to the mirror. The mystery of his wife's laughter was, quite literally, evident upon his face. On each of his cheeks was a little yellow handprint. "Well, Rosie said I was pretty." He joined in her laughter. "Can I help it if my totally mental wife doesn't recognize true artistic talent? It takes a lot to make a face like this pretty, and our daughter has accomplished it. A genius in the making, I tell you, just like her mother."

 

"Ron, I am sorry. If you were to run out the door right now and never look back, I couldn't blame you. I have treated you so terribly. I feel fine one minute and then it feels like someone has jerked a rug out from under my feet. I start to feel scared, terrified that I won't become a better mother. I've never felt like I couldn't do something before, no matter how hard I try-- and I have tried. I don't know any other way to explain it to you. I know that doesn't make any sense, but -- The things I've said to you, the way I've treated you—I – I—There's no excuse. 'I'm sorry' seems pathetically insufficient, but I don't know what else to say."

 

"Say you'll stay." 

 

She rubbed her hand across his cheek, as Rosie came toddling into the bathroom. "Come here, you," Ron said as he scooped up their messy, giggling daughter. 

 

Hermione watched him with an expression of— _Was that awe? Admiration? Respect even?_ Whatever it was, he was certain she hadn't looked at him that way in what felt like ages.

 

She was asked him in a voice so unlike her normal, confident tone, "How do you do that?"

 

"Do what, love?" Ron asked.

 

"Play with her the way you do. You never lose your patience. You don't raise your voice. She messes things up, and you laugh about it. It seems to come so naturally for you. It looks so easy when you play with her, but then I try and I just can't do it. Why can't I do it, Ron? Why can't I be like you with her? I want to, really I do. I just don't know how."

 

"Is that what this is about? You think I'm better at this than you? Well, that's easy to explain. I go to work all day while you and Rosie are here. It's only natural she would test your patience more than mine. It doesn't make me a better parent than you. You're a good mum, Hermione."

 

"No, I'm not. She makes me so angry sometimes. I yell. I fuss. I cry. She drives me mad most days. I am the exact opposite of a good mum."

 

"You don't give yourself nearly enough credit. It was the same when I was little. Dad was always the patient one, but he was rarely home. The Ministry kept him working a lot. Someone had to take control of our house, and Mum was the one left to do it. I am sure there were nights—many nights after the twins were born-- when she would finally get us all to bed and sit down and cry. You think that made her a bad parent?"

 

"Well, no. Of course not, but--"

 

"Then why does it make you one? You have more in common with Mum than you think. You're both really talented witches who chose to raise your kids and be mothers rather than career women. That doesn't make you less of a witch, Hermione. I can't imagine anything more important than raising Rosie and this new baby. I also can't imagine anything more stressful. Do you remember right before we found out you were going to have this baby, and I took time off to spend time with you and Rosie?"

 

The blush on her cheeks told him she remembered that week as vividly as he did. They had put Rosie down for naps in the afternoon, and she had spent naptime wrapped in his arms. 

 

"I remember. It was wonderful."

 

"You thought so? Well, I was exhausted. Going back to work felt like a vacation. Don't get me wrong, I loved every minute of that week, but it made me realize what a tough job you have. I bet our Rosie could give the twins at her age a run for their money, and she was only starting to walk then."

 

"You were tired? You never let it show." She looked at him, and he could tell she wasn't sure he was telling her the truth. 

 

"I had other things to show you then, didn't I? You know, like how to make the most of naptime." He winked at her. He had made love to her more times in that one week than he could count. 

 

"Um, I guess you did." 

 

"You listen to me complain about my job all the time, and you rarely say anything about what you do during the day. Sometimes, I wonder if you're afraid I'll think less of you if you tell me some of the things you do during the day." The look on her face told him he was clearly on target. "Hell, I want to know what you do all day. Don't shut me out. Vent to me whenever you need to, whether you think you're talking about something silly or not. You've made a lot of sacrifices for us, and I probably don't tell you how much I appreciate you nearly enough. But Hermione, they're not sacrifices you have to make if you're that unhappy. After you have this baby, if you want to go back to work, we'll figure something out." 

 

"I don't--"

 

"Ssh. You don't have to decide right now. I just want you to know you're not trapped here. Please, stop shoving me away. Next time something scares you, tell me. I'm guessing you thought being scared about a baby would seem pretty silly to me after some of the things we've faced?"

 

"Yeah, I did."

 

"If it scares you, it's not silly. I've been pretty scared myself lately. I was worried I was going to come home and find you gone. I knew you were at your breaking point. I just didn't know what to do about it. Every time I tried, you pushed me away."

 

"I know. I'm sorry." 

 

"I made plans for us tonight, but I can cancel them if you want." 

 

"Plans?"

 

"Um-hm, unless you're still leaving me." 

 

"You're stuck with me, Ron Weasley."

 

"Good." He kissed her gently, barely brushing his lips over hers, whispering against her skin as he did so, "Love you."

 

"Me too."

 

"I think you, Mrs. Weasley, could use a nice, long, hot bubble bath." He reached for his favorite bubbles, the ones that smelled so good on her skin, and sprinkled some in the tub.

 

"Ron, what are you doing? I thought you said something about plans?" 

 

"I did. This is part of those plans. It's Valentine's Day, you know?"

 

"Is it? Oh, I forgot. I didn't—"

 

"Hush. Listen to me. Tonight, I'm taking care of you, and you're going to let me, even if I have to tie you—" 

 

"Tie me… Please do finish that sentence."

 

"Just full of cheek, aren't you? No back talk."

 

As if on cue, Rosie let out a high pitched squeal. Ron shook his head, chuckling under his breath, "The women in my life always insist on having the last word; even the ones who can barely talk." 

 

He thought he heard his wife giggle behind him. "Was that a laugh? Huh?"

 

"Yes, it was. Ron, would it ruin your plans if I said I didn't want to go anywhere? I'm tired, and I don't want to have to drag Rosie out tonight."

 

"No, it won't ruin my plans. I just wanted to spend some time with you alone. We can stay here, but Rosie's going to Harry and Ginny's house for a sleepover."

 

Ron turned to his daughter, "You will learn, Rosie, there are few things in your life a bubble bath can't fix—or at least that's what your Aunt Ginny says," Ron laughed when Rosie started chattering in the baby talk that still spilled from her lips when she got excited. The chattering and squealing only grew louder when Ron turned on the taps, and Rosie noticed the bubbles starting to form in the tub. She stood on her tiptoes, clapping her hands and pointing into the tub. Ron held her so she could see better, and both he and Hermione laughed at the look on Rosie's face when she reached for a bubble and it popped. 

 

He felt Hermione's hand as it touched his shoulder. She kissed Rosie's nose. "Mummy's sorry," she whispered.

 

The child smiled and held out her painted yellow hands, "Mummy, look. Pretty." 

 

"Yes, baby, very pretty." 

 

 

~ ♥ ~

 

 

When Hermione was chest-deep in fragrant bubbles and warm water, Ron knelt down beside the tub and put his hand on her stomach. The baby growing inside gave a hardy kick. "Did you feel that?" he asked.

 

She nodded, placed her hand on top of his, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the edge of the tub. "I really didn't mean what I said about this baby being a mistake. I want this child. I'm just so-- I feel so overwhelmed and scared—I feel so many things-- I don't even know what I'm feeling sometimes. You know I didn't mean it, don't you? Please say you do, Ron." Her hand moved to stroke down the stubble on his jaw, and the tone of her voice told him how truly upset she was by her own words. She had faced dangers most would never face, yet the thought of another baby was terrifying to her. 

 

He didn't answer right away. He couldn't deny the things she had said were hurtful. But he loved her, had always loved her, had forgotten what it was like not to love her. He softly kissed her lips, then rested his forehead against hers. "I know." His hand moved from her stomach to rub the inside of her thigh, and he kissed her again, sliding his tongue past her lips to dip inside of her mouth. When they finally broke apart, Hermione cupped his face with her hands. He turned one over, placing a kiss in the center of her palm. All was forgiven. 

 

"Did you hear something?"

 

"Hm?" Ron's voice was husky with desire. It had been the first time she had allowed him to kiss her like that in such a long time, and he really wanted to do it again. Then he heard a loud meow from the other room, followed by the sound of their daughter's voice saying, "Pretty Kitty." 

 

"Uh-oh." Before rushing off to rescue Crookshanks, Ron said, "Relax and enjoy your bath, love. I'll clean up our daughter's mess," he pointed, indicating the handprints on his face, "then take her to Harry and Ginny's house. Don't try to get out before I get back, okay. You might slip. Promise?" 

 

"Promise."

 

"It's Valentine's Day, and I'm spoiling you tonight. Now, don't go getting used to it. It's a one time deal. Got it?" He was using his mock-firm voice, laughing when she rolled her eyes. He winked at her, then turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

 

 

~ ♥ ~

 

 

When Ron brought Rosie in to tell Hermione good-bye, her eyes were closed. Ron realized how tired she looked. She needed to rest, so he put his finger to his lips and whispered, "Ssh, Rosie. Mummy's sleeping."

 

"Be right back, love," he whispered before he tossed some Floo powder into the fireplace. He laughed as their daughter saw the green flames and clapped her hands. Rosie loved to travel by Floo powder.

 

End of Chapter 4


	5. Passion Rekindled

Ron stripped off all his own clothes except for his jeans before re-entering the bathroom. He knelt down beside the tub and touched her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered open at the contact. "Feel better now?"  
  
"Um-hm. How long was I asleep?"  
  
"A while." He leaned in to kiss her. The kiss was chaste, just a quick touching of lips. When he started to pull away, she grasped his face between her palms, pulling him back to her. She kissed him hard, pushing her tongue into his mouth when he parted his lips. She kissed him until they were both gasping for breath.  
  
She urged him closer, and he eagerly complied, as she ran her hands up and down his bare chest. When she finally released him, there was water dripping down his front.   
  
"I got you wet," she said.   
  
"Thought that was supposed to be my line." He laughed when she rolled her eyes at his pathetic attempt at a come on.  
  
He pulled her to her feet and helped her from the tub. Within moments, Hermione's hands were unfastening his jeans and sliding a hand inside to stroke his already hardening cock. He groaned at her touch, savoring the contact. It had been way too long.   
  
"Take me to bed, Ron," she whispered, as she pressed her body against him.  
  
He took her hand, leading her into their bedroom. Ron picked up his wand from the bedside table, walked across the room, and pointed it at the fireplace. A warm, crackling fire sprang instantly to life, casting the room in an orange glow and warming it quickly. His wife sat on their bed waiting for him. He swallowed hard at how beautiful she looked and whispered, "Lay back, Hermione."   
  
She did as he instructed without a word, and he was across the room in three strides of his long legs, standing above her. His eyes traced over every inch of her body, seeking out every curve and hollow, noticing that this pregnancy had marred her skin with stretch marks. "You're so beautiful, so perfect," he whispered.   
  
He ran his hand over her stomach, tracing a stretch mark with his finger. She pushed his hand away. "Ron, don't. It's ugly."  
  
"No, it's not. My baby needs room to grow inside you. Never seen you look so sexy."  
  
"I'm sure the extra pounds add tremendously to my sex appeal," she said sarcastically.   
  
For what felt like an eternity, neither of them spoke. Ron watched her face, never breaking eye contact. "You really don't see it, do you?"  
  
"See what?" Her voice was quiet.   
  
"How amazingly sexy you look."   
  
"No. I don't see it," she lowered her eyes when she replied.  
  
He shook his head, unsure how she could look in the same mirror he did everyday and not see how breathtaking she was.   
  
"Ron, I'm glad you do though, see it, I mean." A shy smile accompanied her statement, and he was fairly certain that there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn't have thought she was beautiful at that moment, with the shy blush spreading over her cheeks and the orange glow of the fire reflected off her skin, with swollen lips that begged to be kissed.   
  
He kissed her as he climbed onto the bed, eager to join her. He savored the feel of her soft lips, giving them his full attention.  He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice when she gently eased his wand from the back pocket of his jeans. With one flick, she sent him sprawling off the bed to land rather hard; his arse made a loud thud as it made contact with the bedroom floor.  
  
He was caught completely off guard, and his eyes blazed with anger. He was furious, and his tone reflected as much. "What the bloody hell did you do that for?" She was the one who asked him to take her to bed. He had done what she asked, only to be rejected, rather literally, by her again. A bloke could only take so much, and he was at his breaking point. He ran his hands angrily through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck, as he felt his temper flare. "I thought you wanted me to- Fuck, I don't know what you want anymore. I can't read you. I thought you liked what I was doing."   
  
"You would think a wizard would learn not to keep his wand in the back pocket of his jeans. I think the last time you ended up tied to a chair and completely at my mercy. Did you not learn anything from that, Mr. Weasley—other than your new favorite way to eat chocolate pudding, I mean?"  
  
He looked up at her from his seat on the floor. What the bloody hell was she talking—Oh!. As realization dawned, a grin broke out on his face. She was playing with him. Very few people knew this side of Hermione, and only he knew this side of her in the bedroom. Merlin, he had missed this even more than he realized. This was the playful and fun witch he had married, and she was a sight to behold, trying to keep a straight face from her position looking down at him on the floor. His anger at being tossed on his arse was instantly forgotten.   
  
She gave him an impish smile and said in her most professional voice, "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but you see this bed has a strict No Clothes Policy. And, while I really desire your—er, company, a rule is a rule." She waved the wand, and a sign appeared on the headboard of the bed which read, "No clothes allowed on this bed."  
  
"A rule, huh? I didn't realize this bed had a No Clothes Policy. Someone might have warned me before they tossed me on my arse. Don't you think, beautiful?" Ron cocked an eyebrow at her.   
  
He could tell she was trying hard to keep a straight face, but the impulse to smile was winning out. "It's a new rule," she said pointing at the sign nonchalantly. "And sir, are you flirting with me?" She attempted to sound scandalized but broke into a fit of giggles at the look on his face.  
  
He was crawling toward the bed, smiling at her. "I don't see a sign that forbids flirting."  
  
"Sir, I am a married woman," she once again attempted to look annoyed at his advances, sticking her nose haughtily into the air but ruining the effect by holding her breath to keep from laughing.  
  
"What kind of bloke would marry a cheeky little thing like you?"  
  
"Yes, well he's not the brightest--"  
  
Idiot was right! He had walked right into that one. "Oy, woman. Watch it."  
  
"You didn't let me finish, sir. You see my husband is incredibly handsome."  
  
"That's better."  
  
"But he's certainly brighter than you because he would already have his clothes off and be getting his reward. You see, good boys who follow the rules get generously rewarded here, Mr. Weasley."   
  
"A reward?"  
  
"Oh, a very special reward."   
  
"I do like receiving rewards," he said, winking at her.   
  
"And I do think I will like giving it to you."   
  
She moved to sit at the edge of the bed. He was out of his clothes quickly. She wrapped her arms around his waist when he came to stand between her knees, looking up to meet his eyes. They both laughed.   
  
He grinned down at her, "You know, if I have a bruise on my bum tomorrow—"  
  
"Then I'll kiss it and make it all better."  
  
He laughed. "I don't think so. As I was saying, if there's a bruise on my bum, I plan to turn you over my knee and give you one to match."  
  
She pushed her bottom lip out in a mock pout, then leaned over and licked the sensitive tip of his cock. Bugger it all. If she did that again she was going to be seriously disappointed tonight. He grasped her by the shoulders and pushed her back gently, so she was unable to reach him, put a hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him.   
  
"Don't. As much as I love it, if you do it again, this will be over far too soon."  
  
"I want you, Ron."  
  
"I'm yours."   
  
And he was.  
  
He stood there beside their bed all muscle, red hair, and freckles. The light from the fire cast a warm glow on his skin, illuminating the contours and strong lines of his incredibly masculine body. He lay down beside her, capturing her lips, and teasing his tongue in and out of her mouth as his hands caressed her body, touching everywhere he could reach. "Tell me what you want, 'Mione. I'll do anything you want."   
  
"Kiss me again."  
  
"Gladly."  
  
She placed little kisses on his chin, jaw, and neck, working her way around to his ear to lick and tug at the lobe with her teeth, causing him to groan and swear. "Love me, Ron." Her words were little more than a whisper in his ear.   
  
He wanted to watch her come undone when he touched her, make her scream, do things to her body that would leave her trembling in his arms. He trailed kisses along her jaw and down her neck. "I think I've loved you since I was eleven, Hermione." He twisted his hand into her hair, pulling her head back, as he sucked the hollow at the base of her throat. He ran his hands over her body, palming her breasts. She arched her back, pressing her pregnancy-swollen breasts more firmly into his hands. He groaned and began to squeeze them. "Love you, baby."   
  
"Merlin, that feels good."  
  
He knew her nipples were extremely sensitive from the pregnancy, and he pinched them hard several times, making her gasp. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it in slow circles. "You like that?" Her response was somewhere between a whimper and a moan, but the look on her face told him what he wanted to know. "I know you do. You love it when I suck on your tits."   
  
She stroked his hair as he continued to tease her with his tongue. "Ron, fuck me. I want you right now."   
  
He grew still. She was playing dirty. Hermione rarely spoke the deliciously naughty words that he loved to hear her say. When she did, however, it drove him wild, and she knew it. There was nothing he loved more than to watch her lose control, to know she trusted him enough to completely abandon all reservations in his arms as she whispered all the things she wanted him to do to her, things she would never say to anyone else. It took all his resolve not to take her right then.   
  
She hissed through clenched teeth as he bit down on her nipple and rolled it between his teeth. "Ron, please." The urgency in her voice spoke volumes.   
  
"Get on your hands and knees, baby."   
  
He knew what she expected. She gasped with surprise when he flipped onto his back and slid his face beneath her and between her knees. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her down to his mouth, holding her there. He spread open her folds with his free hand, allowing his tongue access to her most sensitive spots.   
  
"You are so wet," he said as he stroked up and down her outer folds with his finger. He loved that no one but him had ever touched her this way. His finger was followed quickly by his tongue licking her up and down with long, slow strokes, as his nose occasionally bumped against her clit, making her cry out each time it did. In a matter of minutes, Ron's tongue had her pleading for more. He could feel her legs shaking, but he continued licking, showing no mercy. Whenever he found a particularly sensitive spot with his tongue, one that made her cry out, he would lick it over and over again. He could tell she was close. A few well placed licks and strokes, and her whole body was trembling. She came hard and fast, screaming his name.   
  
Ron had never seen her have such an intense orgasm. His arm was still around her waist and he held her firmly where she was, refusing to allow her to shift her position. "Not done with you yet, baby. Gonna make you scream again."   
  
She was still breathless and trembling. "Ron, I don't think I can—I've never-- I'm not sure—" Before she could say anything more, Ron's touched her clit with his tongue and heard her squeal. He held her tightly and began to pinch the incredibly sensitive little nub as he tongued her.   
  
Her breathing was hard and fast. "I want you inside of me. Please, Ron. I'm begging you." Her voice sounded desperate.   
  
He released her waist. "No need to beg, love." His cock was so hard he wasn't sure how much longer he could have lasted. He wanted to be inside her, and he was sure it was only going to take a few strokes before he exploded.   
  
As soon as the head of his cock touched her, she thrust her hips, pushing him deeply inside her. He heard her cry out as he filled her. It was not a cry of pleasure, however, it was one of pain. "Hermione, are you okay? Am I hurting you?" He had been gone during the last months of her first pregnancy. He hadn't thought, before now that he might hurt her.  
  
"No, it's fine. I'm fine," she moaned. She rocked her hips back against him, pushing him farther inside of her with every thrust. He let her set the pace to ensure he wasn't too rough or went too deeply. He could tell she was growing inpatient at his lack of movement.   
  
"I want you to drive your cock into me so hard and fast that I feel every inch of you when you explode inside me. I want feel you come while you're buried deep inside my cunt."  
  
The words spilling from her mouth drove him over the edge where reason and control ceased to exist. He lost all capacity to form coherent thought when she started telling him what she wanted him to do to her, and how she wanted him to do it, using words that she wouldn't dare speak in front of anyone but him. The basest of instincts took over, and he began to pound into her with long strokes, hard and fast. He rubbed her clit as she ground her hips against him. Her muscles clenched around him as she came, screaming his name. One final thrust and he was spilling inside her.  
  
They were both too exhausted to move for a few moments. When Ron gained some capacity to speak again, his words were anxious, "Was I too rough? Did I hurt you? Merlin, Hermione, why'd you say those things? You knew I wouldn't be able to stop. What if I'd hurt you? Damn, I feel like such a fuckwit."  
  
She stroked a hand across his cheek, smiling at him. "But you're my fuckwit, and I'm rather attached to you."  
  
"That's not funny. I really could've hurt you. How do you think that would make me feel? I mean, what if—"  
  
"No 'what ifs'— I'm fine. You were amazing."  
  
With her assurances, he relaxed somewhat. "Would never want to hurt you, you know."  
  
"I know."


	6. The Valentine

When Ron's breathing slowed, he straightened the covers, patting a spot on the bed to indicate to Hermione that she should come and lay down. She did so, and he covered her with the blankets before sliding in beside her and pulling her into his arms. 

 

They were both silent for a while, as Ron rubbed his hand up and down her back. "Hermione, you asleep?"

 

"I'm awake." She snuggled closer to him. "Ron?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"Happy Valentine's Day."

 

"Oh, I have something for you. Close your eyes and don't open them until I get back." 

 

"Ron, we never buy Valentine's presents for each other."

 

"Hermione, for once, do what I say and close your eyes." She closed her eyes but popped one eye back open to tease him.

 

"Oy, no cheating. Close 'em both."

 

She giggled and stuck her tongue out at him, but she closed her eyes just the same.

 

As he re-entered their room and walked over to the bed, he gave her another warning. "I'm getting in the bed, but keep your eyes closed until I say open them, okay?"

 

"Yes, sir," she said giving him a mock salute. Ron pulled her close and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He put his lips close to her ear and whispered, "You know I love you, right?"

 

Before she could answer, he was talking again. "Is there anything that I could do to make you happier? Say the word, and you know I'd do it. Nothing means more to me than you." 

 

She pressed her face against the warmth of his neck and stayed there as she spoke. "Ron, I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving anyone. You, our kids, our family—that's everything to me. The next time I act like a complete mental case, I think you probably should turn me over your knee and make good on that promise of a spanking."

 

"I'm thinking I might enjoy that," he said as he ran a hand over her bum. 

 

"Stop that."

 

"You really want me to stop?" He ran his hand back over her bottom and felt her shiver at his touch. 

 

"No." 

 

"I think I have corrupted you." He was tracing her ear now with his tongue. "Who would believe Hermione Granger gets turned on by the threat of a spanking?" he whispered, tongue still licking at her ear.

 

"Hermione Granger doesn't. My name is Hermione Weasley, or have you forgotten? And may I please open my eyes now?"

 

His lips traveled from her ear to kiss her neck. "Sorry, I got distracted and forgot I had you close them. Just a second, love." He placed a card in her hand. "You may open your eyes, Mrs. Weasley." He put added emphasis on the Weasley part and saw her grin before her eyes flickered open.

 

"Hermione," he said, his voice serious, "Don't open it yet, okay. I didn't spend any money on this. Finding a gift to show you how much I love you would be impossible."

 

"Ron, I don't—"

 

"Let me finish. I don't do this sappy stuff all that well. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. There never has been anyone else for me but you, and there never will be. But, you have to stop being so hard on yourself. I didn't marry you expecting you to be a perfect wife and mother. I don't want a spotless house or a wife who always looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine."

 

"Ron—"

 

"Stop interrupting me. I'm trying to think how best to say this, and if you keep interrupting, I'm just gonna fuck it all up. I'm not good with words like you. See, to me—Well, I'm not even gonna try and say it with pretty words, I'm just gonna say it the best way I know how. I think you're most beautiful when you first wake up in the morning." 

 

"I look a horrible fright when I first wake up in the morning. I'm not sure how that could ever be beautiful."

 

"Is to me," he said.

 

"Yes, well I think we should get your eyes checked out by a Healer, and soon." 

 

"I'm not finished, 'Mione. I love the little scar on your knee. The one you got when you were seven and the boy who lived down the street from your parents pushed you down. I remember you telling me you got so mad you kicked him where it counts so hard that he curled up on the ground and cried. All his friends laughed at him because a little girl made him cry. Twice your size, but you never backed down." He brought one hand under the covers to trace his fingers over the scar and whispered, "That's my girl."

 

"Ron, I can't believe you remember that story. We can't have been more than fourteen when I told you." 

 

"Twelve, and course I do. I love the way you laugh- when you really, really laugh. You know, when you laugh so hard that you make that little snorting sound with your nose."

 

She rolled her eyes.

 

"Don't roll your eyes. Do you know how sexy you are when you do that?"

 

"Snorting is not sexy. There is no way anyone could find that sexy, not even you." 

 

"Hermione, do you remember where we were the last time you laughed hard enough to make that sound?"

 

"Well, no. I mean, why would I?" 

 

She turned on her side, pressing her back up against his chest. He pulled her as close against him as he could. "Well, I do. It was Halloween, and we were at the Burrow. Remember now?"

 

"What I remember about last Halloween at the Burrow was my horny husband dragging me upstairs to his old bedroom to shag me senseless. Wait--- Ron, are you saying-- I don't remember making that sound."

 

"You were sitting at the kitchen table with Ginny. I don't know what you were laughing about, but it must have been funny. I heard you make that noise. It's a good thing I was in the hallway alone. No way would anybody have missed how hard I got just hearing one little sound. _And I would have never lived it down if any of my brothers had noticed._ Then you did it again, and I thought I was gonna come before I even touched you. You don't know the restraint it took to wait until I got you upstairs to shag you. I wanted you right then, right there."

 

"Ron, most of your family was in the next room." 

 

"I know. You should be thankful I controlled myself. What I really wanted to do was bend you over the kitchen table and fuck you right there. Didn't care who saw. I wanted them to hear you scream my name when I made you come." They kissed deep and hard, tongues touching and tangling together.

 

"Wait." He was breathless when the kiss ended, and he attempted to put some distance between them on the bed. _This_ was not the reason he was telling her this story. "Damn woman, you are distracting. I want to finish this though. I can't stand seeing you unhappy. I want you to cut yourself some slack, okay? Nobody but you thinks you're a failure. Have you noticed how often Rosie smiles and laughs? Or how many more words than Al she can already say? She's happy and she's smart. You're doing a good job with her." His voice was proud.

 

"Thank you for saying so." Her voice was emotion filled, and he could tell that the compliment had been something she needed to hear. 

 

"But Ron, don't compare them, Rosie and Albus. That's not fair. Girls are more talkative than boys."

 

"Yeah, I—"

 

She pointed her finger at him, "If I was you, Mr. Weasley, I wouldn't finish that sentence." 

 

"You know I hate it when you point your finger at me," he said, biting the offending digit.

 

"Okay, okay," she giggled as she pulled her finger away from him. "But, I know where you were going with that sentence." 

 

"Do you, my overly-talkative wife?"

 

"You liked having an overly-talkative wife a little while ago."

 

_Merlin, yes, he had._ "You're distracting me again," he said and swatted her bottom. "I guess what I'm saying is you're striving for perfection because you think it's what I want from you. Hermione, it's the things about you that you think are the most imperfect that I love the most. If you go acting all perfect, then you're gonna expect me to be perfect, and we both know that's not bloody likely to happen."

 

She giggled at his statement. "So you love my imperfections?" 

 

"Um-hm. I do."

 

"Little snorts and all?"

 

"Do it now, and I'll show you how much."

 

"You're completely mental, you know? No one thinks snorting is sexy!"

 

"Depends on who's doing it. When you do it, it is incredibly sexy. I know I'm mental, but you love me anyway."

 

"Somebody has to." She was looking at the card in her hands. "A valentine, I presume?"

 

"Can't get anything past you," he said in a sarcastic tone. "Yes, it's a valentine. Don't open it yet. There's a little story behind it. Come here and let me tell you."

 

He pulled her against him, spooned his body behind hers, and put his chin on her shoulder. As he began to tell his story, one of his hands absentmindedly stroked the swell of her stomach. The other brushed her tangled curls back from her face. He had wanted to touch her so many times over the past few weeks, hold her like this and stroke her hair. He was taking full advantage of it now. He wanted her as close to him as possible.

 

"What's my story about?" she asked.

 

"Valentine's Day at the Burrow when I was a kid."

 

"Really? I love when you tell me stories about what things were like before I knew you."

 

"Do you?" She hadn't told him that before and he was genuinely surprised, but he could tell she was excited at the prospect of hearing the story. She snuggled her back as close up against his chest as she could. Ron laughed a little; maybe she had missed this closeness too. "Please, by all means, get comfortable."

 

"You tell wonderful stories, Ron."

 

He brushed her hair back and licked the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulders met. 

 

She gave a tiny whimper, "Oh, please do that again." 

 

He did, licking his tongue back and forth over that same sensitive spot until she was squirming in his arms. "Good?"

 

"Um-hm. But you have to stop. I want to hear my story, and if you keep it up, I'm gonna have--"

 

He licked the same spot a few more times. "What will happen, you know, if I don't stop?"

 

"Nothing. Cause if I tell you, I'm not gonna get my story anytime soon. Stop it. You promised me a story." 

 

"Okay, I'll stop..." A second later, he leaned in to lick her neck again "…eventually."

 

"Ron," she whined.

 

"Yes, love. Your story. Okay, as you know, growing up we didn't have much in the way of money. On Valentine's Day, Dad would always sit us down at the kitchen table to make Mum cards. The cards had to be something made with our own hands. So every year, he would bring all of us boys into the kitchen and we would sit around the table—"

 

"Would that be the same table you just said you wanted to – what was it? Oh yeah, fuck me over? Wasn't that what you—Ow." Before she could finish, he had landed two hard smacks on her bottom. 

 

"One of those was for interrupting the story, the other was for sullying my childhood memories, you naughty little witch." He made his voice sound scandalized by her words, which she found more than a little funny. _It was good to hear her laugh again. It had been much too long since she had really laughed._

 

"Anyway, Dad would bring all of us boys into the kitchen, and we would make Mum homemade valentines. Dad told us he wanted his sons to learn you can't place a price tag on the people you love. He said, and I guess now I understand what he meant, though I didn't back then, some men think they can build a relationship by giving someone gifts that come with big price tags or wrapped in fancy paper. He said those relationships rarely work because they're not built on real foundations. He said when you find a girl who loves you, really loves _you_ and not the material things you can offer her, she'd rather live in a tent with you than in a mansion full of house-elves with someone else. Dad said it's the everyday kindnesses that count, holding someone's hand, a kiss on the cheek, whispering I love you in someone's ear—which would send us boys into fits of gagging, begging him to stop with the mushy stuff. We were sure he was mental, of course, because what woman would want a kiss on the cheek while she lived in a tent instead of an expensive gift, you know, like a racing broom, while she lived in a mansion full of house-elves? Dad would always laugh and say someday we would understand and our wives, if we chose well, would thank him."

 

"He was right," she whispered so quietly he almost didn't hear her. "I owe your dad a thank you." When he heard her whispered words, he reached for her hand, brushed a soft kiss across her cheek, and moved his mouth over her ear where he whispered, "I love you."

 

"Now, we would spend the entire week before Valentine's Day scavenging through the house for bits of colored paper, ribbons, glue, anything that sparkled or was pretty to decorate our cards. It sort of became a contest every year to see who could find the best stuff. The afternoon of Valentine's Day, we would bring all the stuff we had gathered the week before into the kitchen and pile it in the middle of the table. Dad would ban Mum from the room, telling her there was "top secret" work going on in there, and no girls were allowed. We would spend hours at the table making sure the cards were perfect, competing to make the best one. I remember working so hard to make my card just perfect. And the whole time we worked, Dad would tell us stories."

 

Hermione put her hand in front of her mouth. He caught it and pulled it away, "Oy, you're not supposed to laugh when I tell you sappy stuff like this. You're supposed to get all teary-eyed at how romantic I am, which is supposed to lead to fantastic shagging because you can't resist me. Merlin, woman, you're supposed to say 'Oh Ron,' and then the snogging starts. There are rules to these things, you know." 

 

"Psst," she said as quietly as possible, and he leaned in to hear the secret.

 

She whispered in a conspiratorial fashion, "I know the rules, see, and there will be much snogging and shagging at the conclusion of this story."

 

"Well, that's a relief. I thought I was gonna have to spell them out for you. Didn't want to waste all this sappy stuff if there wasn't going to be snogging and shagging, you know?" He winked at her, and they both laughed at the little joke. 

 

"I wasn't laughing at you. Even though I didn't know you, I can picture just how you must have looked. I have a perfect image of you as a little boy sitting at the table working so hard to best your older brothers at card-making. Funny, isn't it? How I didn't know you then, but I know exactly how you must have looked. I can see you perfectly, chewing on your bottom lip, intent on making yours the best. I bet you would even do that cute little thing with your mouth."

 

"Has my dad told you this story before? I swear the man gossips worse than any woman--What cute little thing with my mouth? Cause, you know, if it turns you on, that's information I might need later when I'm trying to seduce you." 

 

"No, your dad didn't tell me anything. It's just that Rosie does that too. She never looks more like you than when she's chewing on her lower lip. Even your mum noticed it." Hermione changed the tone of her voice to imitate Molly Weasley, "I swear, Hermione, that child looks so much like you, but when she's really concentrating on something, it is like looking at my son all over again."

 

"Love, I just added a new rule to this bed." He reached for her wand and added another sign to their headboard, "You are never allowed to imitate my mother when we are naked together in this bed again, understand?"

 

She laughed when he shuddered. "My story. Continue, please?"

 

"Okay. I guess I can finish the story, as long as you weren't laughing at me."

 

"I would never laugh at you, my darling husband." She batted her eyelashes in feigned innocence.

 

"I think I may just get the opportunity to warm your bottom with my hand before the night is over." 

 

She rubbed her arse teasingly against his groin, making him moan. "Ron Weasley, I think you are developing a fixation on my bum," she said. 

 

" **Developing** a fixation?" he asked incredulously. "Love, I've been fixated on your bum since I was fourteen. Can't count the times I wanted to slip my hands under that cute little school uniform you wore. Whoever invented those skirts has my undying gratitude. It showed off just how nice and round your bum was, which of course lead to all sorts of wicked thoughts about what I wanted to do to your tasty little bottom. If you could do Occlumency back then, I probably would have been hexed more times than I care to think about."

 

"Or maybe I would have climbed onto your lap and acted a few of those fantasies out for you."

 

"You would not have acted my fantasies out. They were pretty intense, love."

 

"Hm, I think I might have, cause then I wouldn't have been afraid you weren't interested in me. If I could have read your mind, I would have known you were." She laughed when she heard him whimper. "Oh, my poor baby."

 

"Fuck the wanker who decided that Occlumency was _not_ a required course at Hogwarts," he pouted. "Any chance you've still got that skirt?" He winked at her and raised an eyebrow in question. 

 

"Oh, like it would fit right now anyway." 

 

"So does that mean you still have it?"

 

"I guess I do somewhere. Why?"

 

"Cause it will fit later. Will you wear it for me? Maybe act out some of those fantasies?" Ron kissed her hard, nibbling on her bottom lip, as his hands went under the covers again to rub her arse, spreading her cheeks so that he could rub his cock between them. 

 

"Ooh yes," she moaned against his mouth. "You promise to do that again if I wear it?"

 

"I promise." 

 

"Then I'll look for it first thing tomorrow, and see if there's a charm I can do to make it fit."

 

He laughed at her eagerness. "That's my girl. Fuck, baby, I want you again already. I know you think there's no way I could get so turned on when you're pregnant, but I think you look fucking beautiful. When you were pregnant with Rosie, I wanted you all the time. I think I kept a permanent hard-on when you were around. It's not any different this time. You've never looked more gorgeous to me."

 

She closed her eyes and licked her lips, guiding his hand between her legs.

 

"Gods, baby, you're already wet again. Is that all for me?"

 

In response, she put her hand over his and continued to stroke herself using his fingers. "Let me tell you what I want you to do to me." 

 

He sucked in his breath, making a sharp hissing sound. Through clenched teeth, he said, "You have to stop talking like that tonight. I can't take any more."

 

"You said you like it when I tell you what I want you to do to me."

 

"I do. I like it way too much to keep control tonight if you do it again." 

 

She began to run her hands up and down his chest.

 

"I mean it, Hermione. Stop. I was afraid I was too rough earlier. I'm not gonna risk hurting you just cause I can't control myself." 

 

"Okay. Continue with the story."

 

"I need a minute. You're killing me here."

 

"Sorry." She batted her eyelashes again and scooted close to him.

 

"Not bloody likely. I think you enjoy driving me mad," said Ron under his breath. 

 

"Only when I'm driving you mad with desire for me," she teased.

 

"Yeah, well that would be now," he said as he pushed himself away from her. He closed his eyes and heard her giggle, clearly amused that he couldn't stand for her to touch him. "You know, this is all your fault."

 

"My fault?"

 

"Yeah, I've wanted you for weeks. Guess it's been kind of building up."

 

"Oh, my poor baby," she cooed at him in the voice she used whenever Rosie fell down. 

 

"That is not helping. Not helping at all." 

 

"Okay. I know what will help though."

 

"I doubt anything is gonna help 'cept a really cold shower."

 

About that time, Hermione picked up her wand, held its tip to her throat and did a perfect imitation of Molly Weasley's voice saying, "Ronald Weasley."

 

"I take it back. That did it, though you've probably scarred me for life."

 

"Now, can my story continue, Ron?" 

 

"Yeah, guess so, but this bed is gonna have a whole list of rules by morning at this rate." 

 

The story continued with Hermione once again spooned in front of him, with his arms wrapped tightly around her. "Where was I?"

 

"You were concentrating on making your card the best."

 

"That's right. Okay, well, Dad seemed to know how much effort I put into making my card the best, so when we all sat down for dinner on Valentine's night, he let me give Mum my card first. Mum would go on and on all through dinner about how she loved her cards, and how thoughtful we were to put so much time and effort into making them for her. Then later that night, after we were all in bed---"

 

"I bet they would put you all in bed _really_ early on that night, huh?"

 

"Ugh!" He pulled her up against him. "You keep talking like that, and it may never get hard again. Yuck."

 

She wiggled against him, "That would be a tragedy."

 

"Do you want me to finish this story or not?"

 

"I do."

 

"Okay, then behave. As I was saying, later that night, every year, Mum would come into my room and tell me my card was the prettiest. I guess when you're one of seven kids, being told you're the best at something, particularly when you're the youngest of six boys, leaves a lasting impression. That's one of my favorite memories from when I was a kid."

 

"Hermione, I know you're not really a fan of Valentine's Day and never wanted me to give you anything because you said I was only doing it because I felt like I had to give you something to celebrate some silly holiday created to make people spend money. Always told me it didn't mean anything if I did because I thought I had to. I thought about what you said, and I kept thinking about what Dad said about the little things meaning the most." He reached for the valentine he had given her. "So we— Well, I thought it might mean a little more if you knew the story behind it. It's probably a little goofy---"

 

She took the card from him and turned it over in her hands, "No, it's not goofy at all. It's perfect. You did this for me? You and Rosie made this together?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Her eyes were sparking with tears that had begun to pool there as her finger traced over the letters on the front of the card. He put an arm around her as she ran her finger over a large scribbled crayon marks. As she did so, she said, "Rosie?"

 

Ron smiled. "Yeah. Little Miss Independent wanted to do it herself. She did let me help her trace out the letters, but she was determined to do some of it on her own." On the front were the words 'Happy Valentine's Day' in big block-style letters. 

 

Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks, and he pulled her closer to his warm body. He ducked his head to nuzzle her neck, as he wiped one of the tears away with the pad of his thumb. "Don't cry. It's supposed to make you happy. Open it."

 

Her next words were hardly audible. "I am happy. Happy to be your wife, happy to have your baby, soon to be babies, happy that even when I'm the biggest bitch, you still love me. After all the time I've known you, Ron,-all the time I've loved you, you still take my breath away."

 

She cried even more when she opened the card. On the inside of the card were the prints of two hands, one so large that the fingers ran off the edges, and one little hand, tiny in comparison to the other. Both prints were made with the bright yellow paint their daughter had thought was "pretty". The same yellow paint that had spilled all over the kitchen floor. The same yellow paint that had been the impetus for her horrible words to him earlier that day. 

 

"Didn't think it should go to waste," whispered Ron. "You know, not since Rosie liked it so much she decorated me with it." 

 

Below their daughter's handprint, Ron had written the date, Rosie's name, and how old she was. Beside his own handprint, Ron had written, "Hermione, I know me and Rosie drive you mad sometimes. Be patient with us. We're not perfect, but we love you. Always have, always will. Ron."

 

The words were perfectly simple, heartfelt and sincere, much like the man who had written them. Ron didn't attempt to string together pretty words, he simply told her how he felt. 

 

Ron had never given Hermione a gift like this before. He reminded her how much she was loved with a story, a card, simple words, and two bright yellow handprints. He knew that there were some women who would never understand the value of his gift. It came with no price tag, not even an inexpensive one. It wasn't wrapped in fancy paper; it wasn't wrapped at all. There was no crowd around to impress by the presentation of a gift that's value represented what she was worth to him. 

 

No, this gift was far more special than any of those things, far more priceless and far more perfect. But only a girl who _really_ loved him would find it so. 

 

At that moment, his wife took his hand, put a soft kiss on his cheek, and whispered "I love you" in his ear. After all, those were the things that meant the most. And then she looked him in the eye and whispered, "You see, I think this is where the snogging and shagging begins. Isn't that how all good stories end?"

 

And begin, it did.


End file.
